Man walks into a charred wall, symptomatic of burning building. Blank slate concrete sky looking down on Shibuya-ku. I see monochrome, faded tones from hair products past, tank tops and floral prints. Talismans of ownership by evil organization Ordinary Fucking People, close affiliation with GOD, but uniformed inn stripes and check patterns, the rags they wear their psychological prison bars. I don't even have to look at the people on the train back to feel the gravitational pull of so many cheap computer bags, walking a pilgrim shoe gauntlet find a dark place but it is still high afternoon.
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